Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Traveler’s notes: Devotees

The Devotees were the simplest people of the Tower in some ways- as much as such a thing as a “simple” people has ever existed. That which they venerated was, straightforwardly, God. The church was the place of God, and as Devotees they were the people of God- more or less. Their glyph for “Devotee” was composed of the elements for “man” and “God”. In the spoken tongue, the etymology was less cleanly delineated, as is often the case.

The thing the Devotees called God was not the same on all levels. It’s something like old news anymore, but the moment of realization that day was… transcendent. I believe there is something to the Alchemists’ beliefs, that there’s a spark of something divine in moments like that, in that kind of change. There’s something to all of them.

I came to believe that the Devotees came to the Tower some years after the first doors were closed. They still had some contact with the Warriors, and the homing pigeons meant for the Abbey still had a place marked for them in the Gardens, but by the time the Devotees arrived the Warriors had already shut their doors and refused them passage higher in the Tower. The Abbey grew up around those doors, and there they tried with persistence only the faithful can have to gain entry to the Fortress in search of God who was on high.

The Warriors called them Impure- the same word they used for more monstrous creatures. After the Days of Change, it fell out of use. I’m still not certain how many outside the Warriors’ numbers realized that they equated the Devotees to monsters; it became considered impolite very quickly in the Fortress to keep using “Impure”. At least, it was rude to say it to their faces. This is the sort of thing that’s always slower to change in private.

A note from a Devotee child to a younger one, undated:

I found a new way into the inner abbey! You know the corner under the window where the cats sit all summer? Move the pots. There's a hole in the wall there. Everyone but maybe Tal will be able to fit through. You'll still have to sneak across the yard there, but there's only ever one watcher and they still always fall for the bell trick.

-Sín

PS: make sure you move the pots back or they’ll fix the hole again

From the journal of a Devotee groundskeeper, Days of Change:

Nox says the plants are still dying. People have been saying that God is angry with us- like those old reliefs outside the abbey proper. That seemed stupid three weeks ago but… The plants aren’t getting better. It’s one thing if it’s just the decoration plants in that section, but if it’s everywhere? If it spreads to the food plants? What will we do then? The Warriors haven’t opened the doors in all the time we’ve been here. Why would they change that now?

We can’t be the only ones in the Tower with problems, either. I could hear the bells from the Fortress earlier- the big, brassy ones they always ring at night and in the morning. This wasn’t like any of their normal songs, and it was the middle of the afternoon. Even the guards at the door looked nervous. Maybe we really have offended God. No one has found the Preacher yet, either.

I wonder where that stranger went. He wandered off towards the gardens and I haven’t seen him again. Never met someone with such ungodly terrible luck at cards.

A note scratched into the stone of the uppermost level of the tower by a Devotee child, undated:

Sín and Traveler watched the sunset here :) it’s really pretty! you can see forever

From the journal of a Devotee groundskeeper, Days of Change:

Soren says they weren’t supposed to sing up in the Gardens- not his people, anyway. I still don’t really get what makes them “stupid” as opposed to “bards”, but he says they were always insulted- at best- when they sang where the “bards” could hear. It’s taken me months, but I did finally convince him he could sing here if he wanted, and he still only agreed if I could find him somewhere he would have no audience.

It’s a shame. He has a beautiful voice.

Now, I’m not a musician of any sort- never have been, never will be- but he keeps insisting that he’s only going to sing again if I join him. He’ll teach me the words of this song he’d been working on that’s secret even from his friends, but I have to try, too. He said it’s something about… I don’t know, honestly, because he started talking way too fast for me to follow. I still barely speak his language. Something about freedom. 

There was another thing. I don’t know how to describe the look on his face when I called him a Musician. It’s what they call themselves up in the Gardens, isn’t it? It was… surprised? I don’t know if it was in a good way or not. I think some of his other friends who came down to the Abbey are calling themselves the Free. Maybe he’d like that better. I’ll ask next time he comes around for a game.

(T.N.: the words translated in “quotes” were written as isolated words in the Bards’ script and language while the larger text is written in the Devotees’ script and language)

A map drawn and annotated by a Devotee child, undated:

Here's this week’s map! Talia and I got all the way to the Fortress this time- we found a room full of old, dusty carvings like the ones outside the abbey, but we can't read them. Is the Traveler back yet?

This hall goes way down into the Tower before it comes back up. So many stairs. We spent an hour going up the stairs. I’m never going this way again. It goes to the Fortress, though.

This hall we think goes towards the center, but a bunch of rocks fell in awhile ago. I could get through, but Talia wouldn’t let me go on my own.

This hall is just a shortcut between the gardens and the cemetery.

This hall actually heads out. I think it might even go outside the Tower.

We’re going to look over here next week. There’s a bunch more carvings and something Talia said looked a lot like his language but wasn’t quite right.

From the journal of a Devotee groundskeeper, dated summer of the Year of Change:

We went down to the gardens today- our gardens here, not the Gardens where he wasn’t free. All the flowers are blooming now and it smells like heaven at twilight. We played cards, and he sang for me, and yes, I tried to play along. (Drums are manageable, for the record)

I don’t think he understood what it meant to take me to the orchids and sing, but it’s still sweet. He’s sweet like that. Aria told me a bit about the romances that are popular up in the Gardens the other day. Maybe I will work on that song some. 

God help me, you’re going to make me a poet and a musician both, aren’t you, Soren?

From the journal of a young adult from the Abbey who was a child during the Year of Change, 6 PYC:

I went back to the top of the Tower today- under six hours without using the terminals, by the way- and watched the sunset. The little carving I made the first time I went up is still there. It’s been years, and I still haven’t heard from the Traveler. He’s still… asleep? hibernating? I’m not sure what it is he does there. I wonder if I should wake him up. I don’t think anyone else knows where he is, except maybe Bellus. He asked me to keep it out of the maps a long time ago.

You can still see forever from up there. I can’t really make sense of all their talk of constellations and everything, but they’re very pretty. I get why the Bards care so much for pretty things.

The Warriors say some of the stars make a boat. I can’t see it, but I can see the river down below. We’ve found most of the Tower’s secrets, I think. I want to know what’s out there . All of us came from somewhere- we all have stories about it, even the Anchorites, if they go back far enough.

The river is still there. The Warriors’ boat is still here. I love the Tower, but… I can’t help but wonder about the world. Tal thinks I’m crazy, but what does he know? He ran off to the Fortress to make swords forever. Even when the doors were first opened he barely cared about what was out there. He just talks about the stories of people who left and didn’t come back, which is stupid but… I don’t know that even the Bards have stories of people who came back.

Maybe… maybe someday. Once I understand how to get back. Then I’ll go.

Chapter Text

Traveler's notes: Warriors

In the Fortress, God became Duty. Or perhaps Duty became God. Where the Devotees sought the God they saw in divine light from the Tower’s beacon, the Warriors pursued a sacred charge. Their duty was to be the ones who bore weapons and who defended those they called Chosen. The Warriors followed song to the Tower, and there respect bordering on reverence was given to those who made song themselves. 

I believe the Warriors’ arrival must have been after the Bards and Alchemists separated. At the least, I believe it was well after the split began, as the Warriors distinguish the “Chosen” from a “Scientist”. The glyph for “Scientist” indeed resembles the key the Alchemists were trying to create.

Their identity in the Tower was as fighters and defenders, but they were talented explorers in their own right before they undertook the building of the Fortress. Even if this part of their identity became less pronounced once they settled, their observatory remained the most sophisticated in the Tower and their old astronomical charts accurate. Several of their glyphs were also derived from these constellations and their glyph for “treasure” resembles a telescope.

Indeed, if it weren’t for this ancient expertise, we never would have survived our first expedition from the Tower. I’m not sure our dear Captain ever appreciated how much those skills protected us even without swords.

Guard rotations and inventory reviewed Captain Orion, -2 PYC:

Third Company to the outer gates next dawn-bell. Fourth Company to the Chosen Ones’ ascent. Sixth and Ninth Companies return from short leave. Third and Seventh Companies go on short leave.

Arms: in good repair

Armor: in good repair

Provisions: sufficient. No deficits of note

Incidents: none. All is quiet

Second Battalion status: ready for duty

Personal records kept by the Bellman of the Fortress, Days of Change:

(Expletives) ¹

Someone is ringing the bells. I don’t have any idea who it was or how they got the notes. They can’t have just guessed the Chosen Ones’ call. It’s been three years since we rang that one.

If anyone finds out I let someone else ring the bells, I’m dead. I am so incredibly dead. What if I just say I was drunk? Everyone will believe that. I’ve never messed up the bells before, but there’s a first time for everything. Can that… actually be better? It has to be. That has to be the lesser failure of duty ² than not even noticing someone set and ring the bells. That call mobilizes the entire Fortress. 

Wait. Whoever rang the bells, he would have had to have been in my quarters, wouldn’t he? That’s the only place we keep the bell calls. How did I miss that ?

This day keeps getting worse.

¹ (T.N.: see addendum: Curses of Sennaar, Warriors section. The exact translation requires three pages of context and I have a deadline now. Roughly, he’s saying he should be turned into a little snail with a stupid hat so everyone knows he messed up)

² (T.N.: “duty” here could also be translated “God”. Many Warrior texts that were translated into the Devotees’ tongue before being translated here use “God” regularly, but its meaning in context is far closer to “duty” as in “divine charge”. The Warriors didn’t venerate a god in the same manner as the Devotees)

Marching orders, reviewed by Captain Orion, Days of Change:  

Second Battalion: First, Second, Third Companies report to the Chosen Ones’ ascent at dawn-bell

These companies will be guided through the Gardens by one of the Chosen to the place they call the Labyrinth, where they will be left with instructions on navigating up to the mines where the Scientists say they have been beset by monsters. They should be met in the Factory by a Scientist known as Liet, who will guide them to where their service will be needed.

Companies will be in rotation, one securing the entrances from the mines, one patrolling in the tunnels, and one in reserve. Further orders will be forthcoming as the situation is made clearer.

It is requested that the monsters not be killed, only subdued. As a gesture of good faith, do what you can to fulfill this request.

Personal records kept by the Bellman of the Fortress, spring of the Year of Change:  

Well. They’re not going to kill me.

I guess I have the Traveler to thank for that, though quite honestly I’d have been just as happy with him keeping his mouth shut. Now I’m on the coals for dereliction of duty and lying about it. He says he was trying to help but-

Nope. No, it’s fine. It’s going to be fine. I would have had to give up the bells either way. At least with this, I get one last chance to play them and make it count.

The Chosen Ones are putting on a performance, and some of them noticed my bells when they were first coming down from the Gardens. I guess he thought it was a perfect opportunity for their… concert thing. They agreed on a signal I’ll be able to see from all the way up here, and then I’m supposed to ring the bells the way they designed. Hopefully it won’t cause a panic… everyone should have been warned.

Captain Orion still isn’t pleased. I doubt I’ll be able to find a place in any of the other battalions after this. I don’t know what’s next. I’ve been doing this for twenty years.

Ahh, it just got so quiet. It must be starting.

Updated rotations and placements in the Fortress, reviewed by Captain Orion, spring YoC:

Second Battalion: Fourth Company

Duty at the outer gates no longer about keeping the Impure “Devotees” from entering. Arrangements have been made to allow them through on pilgrimage. If requested, Warriors on duty at the gates will serve as guides and escorts for Impure “Devotees” through the Fortress.

Be courteous. They pursue their “God”. It is their duty.

(T.N.: words in “quotes” are written in the Devotees’ script while the rest of the text is written in the Warriors’. The Warriors’ glyph for ‘impure’ or ‘monster’ was scratched out in favor of the Devotees’ glyph for themselves)

Personal records kept by the former Bellman of the Fortress, 1 PYC:

The Moon Troupe has another performance tomorrow. They’ve asked me to come along as a musician- imagine that! A Warrior, asked to join the Chosen Ones for his music. They have this smaller version of the great bells back home that they want me to play. I’ve picked up a bit of their language, but it’s much easier to read than to speak. I think this play is a newer one, about the unification of the Tower.

I wonder if they’re actually just asking me to play myself. That would be funny, in a grim sort of way.

Whatever. This might be my only chance to play the bells again- and these I can actually play myself instead of just setting the machine to do it.

Maintenance and modification logs of the Prism ¹ , reviewed by Captain Orion, 10 PYC:

Second Battalion: Expeditionary Company

Improved hull plating, ropes, and sails have been installed. Alchemists have sent down more rot-proofing sealant. Even they couldn’t improve on the old recipes we have kept, though their methods for preserving fresher provisions show promise. Wayfarer’s rations have been laid in.

Calculations are underway for the supplies that will be needed for a full complement of crew, including those from other levels who wish to join. Space should prove sufficient.

Next set of river-worthiness tests are to be conducted next week. (Personal note: We should accept the Devotees’ prayers about this one…)

¹ (T.N.: The expedition’s ship is best translated as “Prism” in written form. It was derived from the shape of the Tower’s beacon, the one that each people worked into their script as their heart- God, beauty, exile. Aloud, it was rather less poetic. It was a mashing together of sounds from five languages and repeated stubbornly until it stuck)

Chapter Text

Traveler’s notes: Bards

In the Gardens, Duty became Beauty. The Bards gave their reverence to lovely things, pursuing art in many forms. Their definition of beauty was expansive- far more so than most peoples I’ve encountered. When they restricted many of their number to the sewers and irrigation channels beneath the Gardens, many said they were too stupid to make art or to seek beauty. It’s notable that they had no dedicated word or glyph for those who were made servants- certainly not one that followed the forms of other ‘people’ nouns such as Bard or Warrior. They were called… the word is conventionally translated “stupid” or “idiot”, but that fails to convey the full sense of it. It was often used in that way, it’s true, especially for the Warriors, but when used for the servant-Bards, its sense was more akin to “artless”, or perhaps “lost”.

It’s interesting to term them “lost” in the context of the Bard-Alchemist history, and the ancient carvings that speak of those who left, seeking and those who remained, having found what they sought. It’s interesting too that the servant-Bards were never considered, in language, to be a separate people. They were all aware, collectively, that there was little of substance that separated them.

The Bards’ language was notable in those days for its unusual word order as well as its forms for negation and interrogatives. It became rather commonly assumed in circles that were interested in language that they had developed more artful language in their isolation, something more suited to figurative language and vivid descriptions, but I believe it to be the opposite. The Bards were, on a fundamental level, characterized by staying . In some ways they did pursue beauty the way their distant kin pursued ascent, but they did this, often, while turned inward. Much of their old art positioned them remaining where they were, having found their desire, while others, restless and unsatisfied, departed. In later days, even though they preserved the way forward, following it through the Labyrinth was the sort of thing only idiots did.

I find it far more likely that the Bards’ language is the least changed. Some amount of drift is inevitable, but they valued their stories highly enough that some effort was made to preserve things as they were. Phonetically, their language has much in common with the Alchemists’ even after all this time. The two are, in fact, very close to mutual intelligibility. When I first spoke with the Alchemists, I was almost sure it was still the Bards’ language and that I’d just hit my head on the way up. I believe it was the Alchemists who adapted their speech to better communicate with the rest of the tower. Their scripts- the ones still in use when I woke, at least- seem to have been developed after their split.

Correspondence concealed in dry chambers in the sewers beneath the terraces, undated:

The following conversation was carved into the stone walls and was presumably hidden behind the extensive storage shelving at most times:

First correspondent (“Songbird”): This is terrible. You know this is terrible.

Second correspondent (“Mouse”): Sure, but… where is there to go ? What is there to do?

Songbird: We haven’t always lived in the Tower- you’ve seen the old murals.

Mouse: None of those include us.

Songbird: Neither do the modern ones, do they, unless we’re the butt of a joke? We’re still here.

Historical note: Also among the writings discovered in this room was a song written by the Bards of the sewers. No record of these existed among the Bards of the Gardens until after the Days of Change, but the stylistic markers of this song are consistent with pre-Change musical sensibilities in the Gardens, lacking the influences of the Devotees or, later, the small but vital Fortress musical subculture.

Owing to where it was found, it’s come to be known as the Song of the Mouse and Songbird.

Diary of a Bard, Days of Change:

There’s a stranger in the Gardens. He is no Warrior, weaponless, nor counted an idiot, but he is not one of us. His accent is strange and he keeps asking about the way up. I sent him to see The Stupid Bard , but I hold no hope that he’ll understand.

Every child of the Gardens will ask about the Labyrinth one day, but most leave it behind when they are grown. This stranger is no child- to what end does he pursue the way up? Has no one told him of the dangers that hound the way? They have not always been there, but none our age may forget the day we were made certain that monsters blocked the path.

The days grow darker and dim the beauty of the sun and stars. Others may go where they will. I will remain, for I have found what all seek.

Correspondence concealed in vases in the sewers, likely from the Days of Change:

The following conversation was reconstructed from slips of paper concealed in a particular vase and put in order as logically as possible:

First correspondent (“Beetle”) ¹ : The people of the Abbey have extended an invitation to those of us who would be free.

Second correspondent (“Ant”): Where exactly is this Abbey?

Beetle: Beyond the Fortress- farther down the tower.

Ant: That’s a long way… aren’t there monsters?

Beetle: Those are just stories. They used to say there were monsters down here, too.

Ant: I don’t know…

Beetle: They call us “Musicians”, ² people of music , equal to the Bards above.

Third correspondent (“Roly-poly”): Where exactly did you get this invitation ?

Beetle: One of those terminals, like the one near the instrument workshop. The ones the stranger was waking up.

Roly-poly: And you just trust it??

Ant: I’m willing to take the chance. Come or don’t- I’m leaving tomorrow.

¹ (T.N.: It’s only fair to note that these correspondents are named for the bugs that landed on the papers as I was trying to arrange them)

² (T.N.: “Musicians” here was written in the Devotees’ script, then translated into Bardic for the benefit of other correspondents)

Diary of a Bard, Year of Change:

Where have all the idiots gone? They were here one day and gone the next and our cups were left empty. None have seen them, not even in their enclaves below the Gardens where we do not tread, unwelcome. There was no illness and no invasion of beasts- no change at all but for the passing of that stranger, who the others say asked many questions and gave few answers, who climbed the windmill and then entered the Labyrinth. He has not returned to the Gardens, but it is said also that the dead terminals are bright again and the Tower speaks. It is said that he made it so.

They say the Warriors below say they love song. Some say they will go down to the Fortress, where they will play for “those who appreciate music for its beauty, and not for the chance to write new critiques”, to which I say go! Go, and play for those who can love even mediocrity. Better you play there than here, anyway. Return when you have improved your craft, and not before!

A play written early in the Year of Change, in the style of pre-Change theater:

Historical note: This play is strongly reminiscent of theater like ‘The Stupid Bard” in many ways, though the music is less comedic and draws more on themes of wonder, and that in fact draws on much older stylings, from works about the finding and appreciating of beauty.

Brother Alchemist ¹

Brothers, we sought.

Go up, the Traveler told us.

Taking the path, we found monsters.

Finding monsters, we took fire.

Bearing fire, we ascended.

Ascending, we found people.

Finding people, we couldn’t greet them.

The people had books!

The Alchemists are our brothers!

¹ (T.N.: Bardic “Alchemist” or, more literally, book-man)

A play written after the Year of Change (estimated ~4 PYC):

Historical note: This is one of the earliest surviving works of post-Change theater. While some earlier shows were done bilingually, with two actors playing the same part in response to the same lines in different languages, this was far more of an integrated multilingualism. While it’s still structurally Bardic, in part because of the framework of this style of theater, there are so many loanwords that one is almost obligated to be proficient in the languages involved to follow the show. This one was extremely popular among the Anchorites, as it concerns the end of exile and their return to the Tower.

Keys to Freedom

The Tower, people built.

To the Tower, strangers came.

Seeking change, they built the Factory.

Seeking beauty, they built the Gardens.

Defending the Tower, they built the Fortress.

Seeking God, they built the Abbey.

Fearful, they built the doors.

The Traveler opened the doors!

We are no longer afraid!

(T.N.: This is an accurate enough translation and follows modern standards. The true impact of it is lost this far from its intended performers and audience. It was intended for people of every level to be able to enjoy, not just the polyglots. Translations were provided, but the language in which each line is delivered was a deliberate choice. Though done in the Bardic word order, they tended otherwise to obey their own linguistic rules. Below is an alternate translation)

Free Keys

Exile Anchorite: The Tower, people built.

Anchorite: To the Tower, strangers came.

Alchemist: In search of the Transformation, the laboratories were built.

Bard: In search of Beauty, the gardens were built.

Warrior: To protect the Chosen, the fortress was built.

Devotee: To seek God, the abbey was built.

Anchorite: Fearing strangers, the doors were built.

Devotee: The doors, the Traveler opened!

Anchorite: Fear, we disregarded!

(T.N.: It was always controversial, the phrasing of ‘fearing strangers, the doors were built’, as was assigning it to the Anchorites. Most variants of this show center on that line specifically)

A collection of recruitment posters and maps, 11 PYC:

Note on front of folder:

Here’s the maps we’ve put together + some ideas for posters. See what you think

-Bellus

Note on detailed map of the Tower:

This is the most up to date map of the Tower, especially the core shaft drilled into the old mountain that I was exploring with Sín and the others. We’ve charted the most direct routes between the major levels and marked them in blue. Red indicates collapses and other roadblocks that haven’t been cleared yet. Green indicates areas we haven’t or couldn’t get more information on yet- a lot of them are restricted by some sort of advanced lock that I’d bet we need the Traveler to open, though Sín says he hasn’t returned yet. Purple markers indicate passages that let you out of the Tower at the ground level.

Note on map of the lands immediately surrounding the Tower:

These are all observational. They’re based on what we can see from the Tower itself and Ouna says to assure everyone that measurements are accurate out to the five mile mark in any direction.

Note on map of lands beyond the five mile radius:

These are copies of some really, really old maps that were kept in the Warriors’ museum. Vela says they’re from when the Warriors first came to the Tower. It’s probably impressive that they’re still intact, but who can say how much things have changed between then and now. The course of the river, from what we can tell from here, appears to be accurate, but we won’t know for sure until we see with our own eyes.

Note on star charts:

Aurum says he can read these. I hope it’s true, because I don’t think anyone else who’s signed up for this trip can. He and Tito drew these up after visiting the observatory down in the Fortress. There are some records Vela found that have old instructions for this kind of navigation, but he said no one really practiced it after they decided to stay.

Note on a stack of recruitment posters created with all degrees of mastery:

Ok, these, admittedly, were mostly the result of the exploration team getting into Tito’s art supplies. We’ll need more than just us if we want to actually get anywhere, so we thought it might be a good idea to work on recruitment posters. We sat down for an afternoon and brainstormed some things up in the Gardens, and these are the better results. Most of us aren’t artists. Do you think any of these will be effective?

Chapter Text

Traveler’s notes: Alchemists

Among the Alchemists, Beauty became Change. In a very literal way, God was about becoming. They sought, in the most immediate and practical sense, the formula they could transmute into a key to unlock the great door. Quite literally, it was the key to ascension. More abstractly, they revered change itself. Their faith was in the idea of a divine transformation, some form of apotheosis. It was best realized in the search for the key, yes, but that was not the only avenue or form of transformation they pursued.

It’s common knowledge these days, among scholars of the Tower, that the monsters that overran the copper mines and cut the Alchemists off from the Bards even more effectively than before were once Alchemists themselves. Their transformation was the result of failed experiments done in search of the Great Transformation and was eventually undone, at a cost.

The full transformative power they sought was dear to them even before the closing of the Fairies’ Gate. The desire to open the gate did, in a way, transmute their goals themselves. Their older stories are less about manufacturing a key and more about making something greater of themselves, sometimes in a more figurative way, in a sense of self-improvement, and sometimes in a more mystical one. This may even have predated their arrival at the Tower.

The Alchemists’ numbering system rapidly overtook most others in the tower after the opening of the doors. This was, quite frankly, because their instructions for all of their gadgets, potions, and other creations were useless to anyone who didn’t understand the Alchemists’ math, and so it became the de facto common mathematical tongue. Unfortunately for me, I still too often stumble over their zeroes.

Incident report: Laboratory 3, -6 PYC:

!!! Highest Priority !!!

Laboratory Three must be sealed off immediately. Maintain a perimeter of light around the doors. Warn anyone in the mines to carry lanterns at all times.

Shion is still in critical condition and no others who were in the lab at the time have returned. This lab’s experiments were in pursuit of the Transformation, but they were using their own bodies as the medium rather than metals. It appears that, while not the Transformation for which we strive, something was indeed transformed. Unusual methods, but they have found more results than anyone else has before now.

This… feels like a bad omen. Maybe we’ll never open the door.

Research notes of an Alchemist, Days of Change:

I started reading these legends for fun, but some of these are weirdly consistent on very specific details. There are dozens of variations on the source of transformation, the reasons for seeking it, the things that lie beyond the doors- every story has a different take on these. The one thing that I’ve found consistent in all of them is the idea of a division, of brothers. 

I’ve gone through everything on this floor under legends and myth. I’ll start with history next, and then I’ll see if I can get access to some of the older ones, the ones that aren’t in general circulation. Some of those are even older than our first accounts of the fairies.

I’m sure we were once part of a larger people. We know there are others in the Tower, but where did we come from?

Incident report: Fairies’ Key, Days of Change:

!! High Priority !!

The Fairies’ Gate is open. The gate is unlocked and the door was left hanging open and no one saw it happen. No one has come forward to claim that he was the one who found the formula, but we found a sticky note on the key fabricator with measurements. We made a key according to these measurements, but we don’t dare close the gate again.

None of our stories or records say what happens if we close the gate after it’s been opened. It might lock again. It might remain unlocked forever. If someone were to wait on the other side, who can say if he would be able to open it again? Would he be safe if he were not the one who found the formula? We don’t know enough and everyone is anxious.

Whoever opened the gate, we can’t even be sure he went through it. We have found no one to be missing yet. The old terminals have been activated as well, and recently. Others were saying we can use them to speak to people on other levels of the Tower, and that a stranger was here translating for a time.

What stranger are they talking about?

Research notes of an Alchemist, autumn, Year of Change:

I’ve consulted with my family and gone back as far as I have access in public records. Accurate information fizzles out after six or seven generations, but I have a fairly extensive family tree to work with. I went down to the Gardens to see if there was anything to be found there. Their records are quite a bit different from ours, but the farther back you look the more similarities you see in names, which is fascinating in its own right. The most interesting thing I found, though, is an old story.

While searching the oldest texts we had available to us in the library, I found a story that’s actually quite similar to one my grandfather used to tell- one he said his grandfather used to tell. It was about a pair of twins, one that went seeking and one that found what they sought. One ascended, finding something that changed him, and the other descended, and they never spoke to each other again. My grandfather’s story said they were unable to.

The Bards tell a similar story- it was even made into a play long ago, though it’s rather out of style these days. In theirs, one brother stayed where he was and the other went on alone and they were separated evermore. Their sons never knew each other.

I’ve been looking for better support for the idea that we are kin, and I think this may be what I’ve been seeking.

Incident report: Abbey Gardens, 3 PYC:

! Low Priority !

The gardens of the Abbey have taken well to the new fertilizers we developed. No new blights have appeared in either the potted sections or the in-ground beds. The team estimates that it’s safe to say the crisis that first brought us to the gardens has been resolved. That said, many are now reluctant to leave.

The Devotees have miles more experience than we with the tending of plants and growing things, and their gardens have only grown more beautiful since the Free from the Bards’ Gardens joined them. The blight that struck their gardens four years ago was the result of contamination deep in the irrigation system. Once we found it, that was something we could fix, but it must be nothing short of a miracle that the Devotees kept the gardens alive as long as they did.

Those of our team who intend to remain will help develop new irrigation systems, fertilizers, and the like to meet the needs of the gardens. Those who intend to return would like to submit requests for potted plants of various sorts for the laboratories. It’s believed that additional greenery will greatly improve morale at all levels.

Research notes of an Alchemist-historian, 8 PYC:

We already have strong evidence of our kinship with the Bards. We know the people of the Tower once spoke to each other- there are old art pieces on every level that bear translations. We left marks on each other even deeper than that- look at the Warriors’ sign for “scientists”, the one they use for us. It’s almost exactly the shape of the keys we pursued for the Fairies’ Door.

I’ve spoken with the Traveler at length on this matter, when he can be found. Our tongue is very similar to that of the Bards, leaving aside our scripts and their differing word order. Our numbering systems are near to each other at the most fundamental level. The way we pronounce certain words remains almost identical, even after all this time. If you sit and listen, without thinking too hard, we can very nearly understand each other. The Traveler agrees on many of these points, and has many observations of his own, and I am inclined to agree with his conclusions. Our paths diverged generations ago, but deep down we still remember each other.

There are fewer common denominators between other peoples of the Tower, but there are still some to be found, if you look. Ask the Traveler about “God” ¹ some time.

The story the Anchorites tell- and the Creator also, according to the Traveler- says that the people of the Tower used to speak, but that they each walled themselves off eventually. Our stories say that it was the Fairies- by all indications the Anchorites as we once knew them- were the ones who built our door. The Warriors and Devotees both speak of the closed gates of the Fortress, if from different sides of that gate. The Bards’ stories speak of fools who kept looking for pointless things and went away.

The Tower remembers.

¹ (T.N.: This instance of “God” uses the Devotees’ glyph)

Expedition report: First contacts with peoples outside the Tower, 12 PYC:

Historical note: Many reports of this nature were preserved digitally by the Anchorites in addition to being printed out for physical records. Short messages stored on small drives were sent back to the Tower by messenger birds by the Prism expedition.

We’ve found people beyond the Tower!

We’re sending this about a month into our journey downriver. Our first contact was made a week and a half ago with people in the fields alongside the river, but we couldn’t speak with them and they seemed afraid to see us coming, even when we were sure to stow the weapons where they wouldn’t be so obvious. We made it to another city eight days ago. It didn’t seem like they wanted to let us pass, so we’ve been at anchor since then. They finally sent some people out to talk to us five days ago, and the Traveler has been hard at work ever since.

Thank God for him, honestly. This is hard even for Tempet, and he’s the best of any of us at language things- except the Traveler, of course. I’m glad Sín talked the Traveler into coming with us. He’s a fascinating fellow, once you actually get him talking about something he cares about. He’s a little weird about the day everything changed, though, so we don’t bother him about it.

The Traveler says he almost has enough to be able to interpret, and to teach the rest of us. We might be able to go into the city, which would be incredible I think. Captain Orion doesn’t think it’s the best idea to just wander into the city, but we came out here to learn things, not to find new ways to be suspicious of everyone else. We have to have learned something from the Days of Change.

Speaking of, there’s an interesting thing ¹ in the language here that’s weird even to the Traveler. As far as I can tell, it’s sort of like the difference between cows and bulls, but it’s way more complicated and applied to way more than just physical differences. It might be a type of word? Like person-nouns or place-nouns or verbs? There’s five different ways to say “they”? I’m not sure even the Traveler has it down. Tito says it’s kind of like trying to explain shades of blue to someone who barely knows what a color is, which might make more sense to someone more artistically inclined than me.

Anyway, I think that’s my limit on this message. Hoping these reports find you well!

¹ (T.N.: This was the concept of grammatical gender. The Tower wasn’t without its concepts of human gender, but none of its languages differentiated things like masculine or feminine nouns or pronouns. It was my first encounter with the concept as well, and I had no one to explain it. I was still barely communicating with the people of the city well enough to request passage, much less ask about grammar)

Chapter Text

Traveler’s notes: Exile

The language of the Exiles- the Anchorites- was old, but the even the form I knew was but a child of an older tongue. That was the one engraved on the foundations of the Tower, and the one in which its laws and functions were written. The Anchorites’ still echoed it, but their writing system was, at some point, made entirely anew. Even I couldn’t learn more than that.

There were a number of things that struck me about their language as I saw it written. Among them was how many things were defined in opposition to something. “Stop” was constructed as “not-go”. A “stranger” was “not-me”. To “disregard” or “ignore” was to “not-seek” or “not-want”. “Reviving” was “not-dying”. As it was when I learned it, “life” was constructed as “not-death”. 

There’s much to be learned about the mindset of a people in details such as these. Living was simply not dying- defined by a thing it lacked rather than by its own properties. Given the state of the Tower and the stories the Anchorites told, this perhaps isn’t that surprising.

One other construction that I had less time or inclination to pursue was that of “fear”. It contained the element for “death”. This wouldn’t be so odd a construction, but I always found it a curiosity.

At the top of the Tower, Change became Exile.

They deified their own exile, their isolation from the rest of the Tower. If duty was at the heart of the Fortress, at the heart of the upper Tower was a yawning pit. They named it Exile and imitated it, alone.

[The following was scratched out, but remained legible enough for our records. It is a valuable perspective on the Days of Change that would otherwise have been lost.]

The Creator said they were pushed out of the lower levels of the Tower by the strangers that came and settled there, but that “Fairy” door was their own creation. If he knew this at the time, or only knew what he was once told in turn, I never had the opportunity to ask. The story he told... the Exiles all turned inwards, even from each other. That they surely could not blame on the other people of the Tower. His story tried to make them out to be blameless, like they closed no doors of their own, like they hadn’t been watching all this time. Their sanctuaries were built into the Tower itself, locked and sealed even as they amassed collections of souvenirs of the people they watched.

Not a single level has stories of the Exile watchers trying to make contact. Perhaps they had no hope that they would be received if they opened the doors. Perhaps they were afraid. Few of them would speak to me of Exile- of my brother. I don’t know what they knew. Maybe they just didn’t want to speak with the one who killed their God.

The Creator disappeared with Exile. I don’t know if I was meant to endure after that, but I haven’t died yet.

Personal blog, Bellus, -7 PYC:

Starting Sky-climbers II today. It’s supposed to be more open-world than the first, with more puzzles and hidden secrets. Hope so! Nothing else that’s claimed to be “another Cavedoom ” has ever actually done what made Cavedoom so interesting in the first place. It’s so hard to find a good adventure game… They should be so much more popular, you would think, instead of just PvP or building sims, but they’re just not.

Cavedoom really was great. I had to draw maps for that one. I had to take notes! People made entire mapping software chips just for that game. Sky-climbers is good, but it’s never had anything on Cavedoom . I don’t know if anything is gonna beat that, but we can always hope, right?

Observation logs, Tempet, Days of Change:

[from: Creator]: There’s a stranger moving through the Tower. He should be on your level by now. Keep an eye on him.

[to: Creator]: The one wandering around the sewers?

[to: Creator]: [image]

[from: Creator]: That’s him.

[to: Creator]: I think he’s just lost.

[from: Creator]: He’ll find his way.

[from: Creator]: Watch him.

[to: Creator]: Alright…

Personal blog, Bellus, Days of Change:

I don’t know when or if this will get to go live, but for now I guess I can still just put my thoughts in here. 

Everyone’s… excited, mostly, about the end of Exile. That we can leave. That we can start talking to other people- once everyone learns an entire second language, apparently. It’s probably good. But… what is this going to mean for us? It sounds like Exile was plugged into everything up here, into the entirety of our infrastructure. Every network we have. Every system. Will everything fall apart now? We can’t just dump ourselves on the rest of the Tower- that’s hardly fair. What other choice will we have, though? Our world isn’t built to withstand this.

It’s nice to talk to people, but I don’t think anyone else wants to think about this, either.

Physical logs, Tempet, spring, Year of Change:

Historical note: This appears to be the same text written twice, once in the Anchorites’ language and again in the language of the Bards, where this Anchorite’s chamber was. The Bardic copy is written far less expertly than the Anchorite copy, but it doesn’t suffer from excessive mistakes.

Up, Bards go. Flowers, Devotees plant. Books, the child reads. Ok, I think I’ve got it.

The others were saying this language thing was so difficult, especially the Bards’. I’m not sure what the big deal is. It just takes a little practice. Look how fast the Traveler did it! It’s fun, too. My handwriting is still pretty bad, but I think I’ve got the language itself more or less down. There are plenty of opportunities to practice.

It’s a little weird still, talking to the people I’ve been watching for so long. It’s so different getting to see the theater in person, though. This has been a good thing, though. There are so many things to see. It sounds silly, but have you ever smelled wet dirt? We never had much of that at the top of the Tower, even in the rain. It’s really nice, even when it gets caked under your nails and dries out your hands. I’m supposed to meet Ceres in an hour to spend some time in the garden terraces before twilight and then we’re going to the theater. I can’t wait.

Personal blog, Bellus, winter, Year of Change:

I should map the Tower. That would be useful, right? Everyone wants to know where everything is now, especially in the places they haven’t seen before. The Warriors want to know the layout of the mines so they can find all the monsters. We want to know how to get down the Tower. The Bards want to get through the Labyrinth.

It won’t be all that different from mapping new areas of Cavedoom or something. I even have the right software already set up on my handheld. It might even be easier - there will be actual people to ask for directions, not just unhelpful NPCs that are just floating there. Even if they don’t understand exactly what I’m saying, I can mime it well enough to get the point across, which you can’t do with NPCs. I wonder if anyone would want to come along as a translator… I should go ask around.

Alright! Our part of the Tower didn’t implode. We can talk to people. The doors are open. Yeah. Now seems like a good time to go exploring.

You know, I’ve never really done this in person. It’s exciting.

Physical logs, Tempet, 2 PYC:

Exploration logs: Devotee printout

We’ve been at this for two years and there are still so many secrets we haven’t touched yet. Bellus’s mapping software has proven incredibly useful for three-dimensional modeling to help us estimate where blocked passages should connect, or where there could conceivably be a room with a hidden entrance. We’ve already found four tomb-like chambers like this. Sín, however, still wishes for it to be noted that he thinks this is all very silly and unnecessary when we can just draw the Tower ourselves. Even he has to admit that it’s much easier to edit a digital model than a drawing, though.

We haven’t made much progress with the grand relief in the core shaft. I’ve spent a good bit of time with it, but I don’t have the Traveler’s expertise. Unfortunately for us, he hasn’t been seen in weeks. Sín keeps saying we shouldn’t worry, but no one has seen him on any of the levels in some time.

The problem with this relief is, partly, the sheer size of it. It must go up three stories- I still don’t think we’ve managed to get good images of the whole thing, much less gotten it transcribed. Its grammar is inconsistent and it blends all the scripts and languages of the Tower to the point of incomprehensibility. Talia says there has to be a pattern in it, but I’ve come up blank every time I’ve looked for one. He has a few ideas, he said, but he wants to work with them some on his own before sharing.

…I hope he doesn’t think we’ll make fun of him. I’ve certainly floated my share of terrible ideas trying to crack this. I’ve said far stupider things than he ever could while our little expedition dug around in the walls. (In pen: Hey, I thought I deleted this section before I sent the log to print)

Expedition report, 14 PYC:

This is a question that should be brought before everyone in the Tower.

We know it hasn’t been that long, in the grand scheme of things, since the Tower rejoined itself. We are trying not to forget all its lessons. We’ve met many people who are curious, some who are friendly, some who are not. The same as us. We’ve met some who are in search of a place to rest, or to settle.

This isn’t a decision we can make ourselves, so we put it to all our brothers in the Tower: should we bring them home?

Chapter Text

Sennaar University, 884 PYC:

“You know,” August says, finishing her notes with a flourish. “It's incredible that you- your… family, your order- that you managed to keep these records intact for so long. These are in better shape than the old art projects my mom kept from when we were kids.”

“My… family,” the other man repeats. August shrugs easily.

“Ok, I admit that’s a bit of a guess. You can’t be the same Traveler who’s in all the old Tower stories.” She laughs, bright and amused. “Not unless you want to tell me you’re coming up on a thousand years old.” The man, who only calls himself Traveler, watches her with a faint and enigmatic smile, running his fingers over the worn leather cover of the first Traveler’s journal. Slowly, August’s smile fades. “Nah, you’re messing with me.” People only live lengths of time like that in myths and fantastical stories.

He certainly looks the part. The histories say the man playing this part always does, though, with the deep burgundy coats and the blue rings inked around their arms. One of them emerges every few decades or so and meets with scholars studying the great tower. No linguist has ever been able to match the Travelers’ command of the five ancient languages, spoken, they always say, like a native- and how are any of the historians to check that? Very few recordings of those days were even made, and fewer of those survived. The running theory for some years has been that these Travelers were descendants of the one that first appeared in the Tower during the Days of Change, or else members of some underground following of a figure of near-mythic proportions. The way this Traveler looks at her, though, the familiarity with which he flips through the pages of the journal… there’s no reverence in the gesture, not that of a saint’s relics nor of a family heirloom.

That’s not possible. He’s having her on.

“Who are you?” she demands. No one has ever had a straight answer from the Travelers- not that they wrote down, anyway- and they always wait long enough between their returns that no one remains at the university who might remember them.

“Just a traveler,” he says, still smiling. Still unreadable.

“What’s your connection to Sennaar Tower? Why do you keep coming back?”

“I was-” the slightest of hesitations- “born here. This place made me. It’s good to remember it.”

August’s eyes narrow. “You’re just trying to make me believe you’re the same man,” she accuses. “Whether it’s immortality or reincarnation or something equally absurd.”

“Believe what you wish,” he says indifferently. “People always do. Do you have any further questions for me?”

“No,” she says, sullen. “No, I’m done for today.”

“As you wish.” He stands, taking the journal with him. “I will be in the Tower for several weeks yet. If you wish to speak further, you may find me through the terminals.” And he goes, leaving her alone in the cramped office that’s been home to a dozen students before her, still feeling like she’s the butt of some cosmic joke.

Even Tempet hadn’t discovered that the great relief carved into the walls of the open space bored through the heart of the mountain was Exile’s work. He would have, given enough time, but there were always other questions to ponder, other passages to explore. He always said he meant to ask the Traveler for his opinion but that the timing was never right. The Traveler supposes that was his own fault, sleeping as long and as deeply as he did. He missed large stretches of the years after Change, lying down in the tomb where he had first woken.

The first sleep was the worst. He hadn’t been well acquainted with the idea- had never felt the need for it on his journey up the Tower- and after the end of Exile and the disappearance of their creator, none had remained who might advise him. He had feared what might happen when the weariness became too great, when none of the advice that he simply needed rest did anything. He rested, but even in that temporary stasis he had not returned at all restored. He asked the Alchemists and then the Exiles, but to all of them he had seemed as human as they. Returning to the place where he had woken was the final attempt. It worked, in the end, but he slept a long time. When he woke, he had found people of the Tower making preparations to depart. Sín had been full-grown- that had been, truly, the most jarring part of it all, the sudden realization of how much he could miss in that hibernation.

He’s learned how to tune it better in the years since. Some of it came from the exploration of the Tower and the understanding of its systems, but more of it was little more than trial and error. Every scientist he knew would have been appalled by his methods.

It’s a long walk from the university in the city that grew up around the Tower to its feet, and longer still before he reaches the Abbey. Most of the abbey proper has been maintained as a historical site, but that didn’t begin until two centuries after Change. The old ways between the levels remain, for the most part, but their sights are ever-changing. He could use the terminals to climb, but every trip up the Tower is a new one and he only just woke in this era. It feels good to stretch his legs.

The Fortress has been rebuilt four or five times since his first awakening. Once it was even because battle came to the tower. He should probably count himself lucky that no one had stumbled across his chamber during that invasion; having slept through it altogether was something of a mixed blessing. It doesn’t look much like the Fortress he knew anymore, but he can still find his way through, and can still follow the sound of the great brassy bells up and up and up.

The Gardens are blooming. The old sewers are less changed than he expected; some things even this year’s scientists have found it hard to improve on. If he listens very carefully, he can still hear the remnants of the Bards’ language in some of the neighborhoods here.

The Alchemists’ library has grown more than five times over; it’s the envy of scholars for miles in all directions. He’s considered leaving his journal and other mementos to them here, or to the museum that grew from the Warriors’ collection in the Fortress, but he’s too sentimental a creature to part with all of it. He settles for offering his knowledge and services to the universities for a time whenever he wakes.

In the Exiles’ place, they have built cathedrals. That was a thing he’d never predicted, that this would be where the grandest churches grew, but perhaps it’s a harder thing than he believed when he was young to predict the future so reliably. The world is so infinite and so strange, even to ancients.

He climbs to the top of the Tower, to the place where the beacon still shines, its connections remade and rewritten a dozen times with the changing of the age. He hasn’t been obliged to repeat that first journey, not yet, but some years it has been a near thing. People are very good at learning things. Forgetting, too, sometimes, but learning most of all.

Sín’s words are still carved into the stone of the Tower, weathered with the passage of many years. He sits in the same place and watches the sunset. The view is still magnificent, even if it’s much changed. The river still stretches into the distance, and the air is heavy with the scent of coming rain.